Maybe it’s another season of “So You Think You Can Dance” that’s got me reminiscing. All those beautiful dancers and their ridiculous legs remind me of my own childhood as a dancer. Not because those were my legs, mind you! No, it was the group of girls I danced with that possessed those lovely legs so completely. Girls who might have been shy in a classroom or around boys (or not!) moved freely, like deer or gazelles, as soon as they hit a studio floor. My friends were incredible dancers.

Me? I could keep up with choreography. I had FABULOUS “stage presence” (thus the theater degree), don’t you know. But I also had rather bad feet for a dancer, a penchant for raising my shoulders toward my ears,  and was naturally inflexible, sitting in splits for half an hour while my friends twisted like pretzels upon rising in the morning. Did I mention my Dad used to (still) calls me “Grace” from time to time? A natural dancer, I most certainly was not.

But my group of friends made me a better dancer. Most of them went on to dance professionally, far surpassing me when I had plateaued. One, a former Rockette, actually ended up in a yoga class with my mother a few years back. Mom simply sat in awe, watching her contort and stand on her head for an hour. She was completely out of her league.

As was I in all those dance classes. There were magical years, though, when as pre-teens we all went en pointe. We mastered the Can-Can and Tarantella as well as any pre-teen donning a pair of pointe shoes could, and even competed nationally. At that competition, one of the judges was none other than THE Alvin Ailey, founder of Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. An absolute legend. How had I, a little girl from Pennsylvania managed an audience with Alvin Ailey, what with my flat feet, poor posture, and goofy grin?

There’s really no other reason than that of my friends. The girls with whom I logged 30 hours a week, sweating and perfecting combinations. Staring at our reflections in the mirror, sucking in our non-stomachs and hoping we weren’t as “fat” as we thought we were. We shared stories of boys and blood blisters while wrapping our calloused feet. We became the very best of friends (as close as you can get when consistently competing against one another–maybe more so). And we won a dance competition judged by none other than Alvin Ailey.

Recently, one of those “sisters” of my youth lost her mother, Paula, a real staple in my own childhood. Paula was tall, musical, outspoken, crazy smart, and always made me feel loved. She also made impossibly tight hair buns and French braids in our hair for shows, recitals, and competitions. Some girls complained Paula braided too tightly, making them tear up (I confess, there’s truth to that), but I loved having her pull my hair back. I adored hearing her talk, sharing opinions and jokes, and never afraid to express her feelings with little old me. She made quite an impression on me. A lovely one, I think.

It was the likes of Paula, her daughter (my friend) Kirsten, the other girls–that whole community, really–who created this fairytale of experiences I had as a girl. On their shoulders, this very ungraceful girl held court before a king of dance. Without that village of people I wouldn’t have those experiences. I wouldn’t be this person. I wouldn’t have these ugly toes and feet. And I’d never know the freedom that dancing with abandon in the company of your friends can bring.

And Paula, may you be at true peace and rest after fighting so bravely for so very long. You made an indelible impact on my life, and I am grateful to you. As a mother now to O and Ro, I hope one day to love their friends as well as you loved me.

Love to you and your family,

Kara

Photo credit (above right): From the Alvin Ailey Archive. Alvin Ailey, Lucinda Ransom, and Loretta Abbott in “Revelations” in 1964.

Photo credit (impossibly cute girls): one of our incredibly proud parents (MasterofWhat?, eyes closed, brace-faced, front left)